Juked (17 page)

“I haven’t had a flu shot in twenty-seven years,” he says in a southern drawl. “Never had the flu.”

“Hmph,” Geni says. “You got lucky.”

“He also saved himself about five hundred forty dollars in copays,” I say snottily.

“Flu shots don’t have a copay,” he says.

“See?” Geni says.

“But that’s twenty-seven times I haven’t been poked with a needle,” he continues.

“See?” I say.

“Hmph,” she says again.

“As much as I’d love to continue this delightful conversation,” I say sarcastically, “I have a new client I need to greet.” I do a final check to make sure my work station is presentable and move to the front of the salon.

There’s only one person sitting on the bench, so I walk right up to her, assuming she’s my new client.

“Mary?” I ask. She jumps up with a bright smile on her face. “I’m Quincy,” I say and reach my hand out to shake hers.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she says enthusiastically. “I’ve been really looking forward to this.” Her hair looks like it’s been recently colored and like it doesn’t need much of a trim, and I wonder what she’s doing here, but clients fire their hairdressers all the time. Maybe she wants a different color.

I take her back to my station. We spend several minutes discussing the chestnut lowlights she wants but didn’t get last time and how she’s hoping for a more choppy, stylish cut.

Once I get her colors mixed and set to go, we begin the tedious and time-consuming process of painting it on her hair.

“I can’t wait for my boyfriend to see my new hair,” Mary says excitedly. “I just knew when I made an appointment with you, you’d know exactly what a man likes.”

I crinkle my brow but smile as I fold a foil around one of her locks. “I wouldn’t say I necessarily know what a man likes. But I like to think I know what will look best on my client.”

She waves at me dismissively. “That’s the same thing. I was just so surprised I could get in with you.”

I pull up another portion of her hair with my comb and paint the color on all the way from root to tip. “I have some steady clients, but I’m not that hard to get an appointment with.”

“Really?” she asks with a look of disbelief. “I would have thought Daniel Zavaro’s girlfriend would be booked up months in advance!”

My whole body goes still. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Geni freeze as well.

“I, um….” I try to regain my composure and focus on the work in front of me. “I wouldn’t call myself his girlfriend.” Geni snorts. I shoot her a dirty look.

“Oh.” Mary looks crestfallen but quickly brightens up again. “But you are dating him, right? Just not at that point yet.”

I look at Geni, whose eyes are as wide as mine feel. I have no idea where this girl came from or how she knows anything about my relationship with Daniel, and it’s a little unnerving.

“We’re friends,” I say vaguely. “But how do you know anything about that?”

“I saw your picture in the paper.”

I spend the next thirty minutes trying to concentrate on getting the right color on the right sections of hair, all while trying to field questions about the Mutiny players I know (which is one) and keep all my answers short. It’s more exhausting than a normal lowlight would be.

Once I get her situated under the dryer and before I attend to a client who needs a touch-up, I race back to Geni’s station.

“What the fuck was that about?” I hiss in her ear.

“I don’t know,” she hisses back, folding foil on the top of her client’s head. “Daniel was recognizable in those pictures, but I didn’t know you’d been identified, too.”

“I appreciate having new clients, but really? Like this?”

Geni shakes her head. “I don’t know, babe. I’m just as shocked as you are.”

“Thank goodness Sue is next.” I quickly clean up the bowls and brushes, all the while wondering how many new clients I’m going to run into who have figured out my relationship with Daniel. How many of them would have made an appointment with me if Daniel wasn’t in the picture?

I understand now why professional athletes are always complaining about never knowing if people like them for themselves or their profession. I also understand one of the reasons why Daniel and I may have clicked in the beginning. There must have been something nice about me having no idea who he was when we first met.

I wave Sue over when I see her check in at the front. She strides over like she’s on a mission, newspaper in hand.

“Girl, you are the talk of the town right now,” she exclaims and plops herself down in my chair. I wrap the cape around her neck and start brushing out her hair.

“Nice to see you, too, Sue,” I deadpan. “And what are you talking about?”

“You haven’t seen yesterday’s newspaper?”

“No one reads the newspaper anymore, Sue.”

“Well maybe you should,” she says pulling the paper out from under the cape. “Since you’re the star of a giant exposé.”

I look over her shoulder, and there it is, the answer to why my new client knows about my relationship with Daniel.

Houston’s Latest Heartthrob: The Woman Who Keeps Daniel Zavaro Warm Between the Cleats

I snatch the paper from her and scan the article, vaguely aware Geni is reading over my shoulder.

Step back ladies. It appears Daniel Zavaro is off the market. Maybe even for good! Last week, the twenty-nine-year-old captain of the Texas Mutiny, and one of last year’s most eligible bachelors, was spotted in the company of twenty-five-year-old Quincy Watson, a local hairdresser.

Seeing Zavaro with a beautiful woman on his arm isn’t anything new, but what is new is his relationship with the seven-month-old nephew Watson has full custody of. Sources tell us that last week, while Watson was apparently recuperating from the flu, Zavaro spent all his free time with the tiny tot, including dropping him off and picking him up from day care.

“He was a real sweetheart,” our anonymous source said in a phone interview. “He doted on baby Chance like he was his own son.” Who is this new woman in Zavaro’s life? We did a little digging.

“Hailey,” I grumble to myself. “You are in so much trouble.”

The article gives the details of my job, including which salon I work at, and goes into detail about my work history. It covers Sarah’s death and my subsequent custody of Chance. It even covers my dad’s death and my mom ditching us.

There are pictures of Daniel going in and out of my apartment, Chance in tow. Them at the day care. Me walking into work.

By the time I’m done reading, Sue and I have switched spots, me in the chair and her standing next to me.

“Well,” Geni says, looking as shell shocked as I feel. “That’s not an annoying invasion of privacy or anything.”

“Invasion of privacy or not, you come out looking like a wonderful human being,” Sue says, patting me on the shoulder.

“I guess this explains that weird feeling I had of being watched the other day. And all the new clients I have booked for the next couple of weeks,” I say, rubbing my temples. “And here I thought word of mouth was getting out and people were hiring me because of my work.”

Geni walks around and stands in front of me, leaning against the full length mirror on the wall. “Honey, are you okay?”

I wave her off. “They didn’t say anything that’s not already public information. Although Hailey and I are going to have words when I pick him up at day care tonight.”

Geni and Sue both nod.

“But I’m not distraught or anything. I’m just… I don’t know,” I say, standing up and ushering Sue back into the chair. “I’m a little stunned to see my entire life history in the newspaper. I think I feel more sorry for Daniel than anything, though. Can you imagine having your private life in the news every single day? You want the same color, right, Sue?”

“Yep. Just a touch-up.” She settles in, and I collect the colors I already had set aside for her. “I’m sure it’s something he’s used to by now. But can you get used to it, too?”

“That’s the thing.” I get my gloves on and stir the colors together. “I don’t know if I’m going to need to get used to it. Maybe that’s why it’s so jarring. I don’t even know what’s going on between me and Daniel, and now this giant newspaper practically has us engaged.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know what’s going on between you two?” Sue asks. If any other client asked me that, I might be upset by the personal nature of the question, but it’s Sue. “I thought you guys were dating.”

“We are.” Geni laughs from her station. “Shut up, Geni. What I mean is we haven’t really talked about it.”

“Please,” Geni interrupts. “His mother dropped off food several times and played with the baby while she was sick.” Sue’s eyebrows raise in interest.

I try to downplay it. “She’s a nice woman who loves babies and thinks her soup is the magic cure for illness.”

“And she wants you to marry her son,” Geni sing-songs.

I shake my head in amusement. “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Geni.”

She shrugs. “I call it like I see it.”

“You and the newspaper,” I grumble under my breath. Luckily, Sue shifts the conversation to talking about
her
grandbabies and gives me a reprieve from discussing my love life. Temporarily.

All too soon, her touch-up is ready to set, and I have to retrieve Mary and field more questions. But now I’m ready for them.

“So you really have custody of your nephew, huh?” I glance in the mirror and see Geni trying to discreetly take calming breathes. I know she’s biting her tongue, too.

“Uh-huh.” That’s the only answer she’s going to get.

“That must really suck,” Mary continues.

“Not really.” I’m trying to get her cut done as quickly as possible so I can usher her out of here.

“Daniel seems really good with him.”

“He is.” Now that I know why Mary chose me, I have almost no interest in conversation, but I also know it’s part of my job. I try a new tactic and switch the conversation to her. “How long have you and your boyfriend been dating?”

“Over a year now!” Her eyes brighten, and I know we’re in the clear for a while. She talks almost exclusively for the remainder of her haircut, and before I know it, I’m letting her out of the chair and walking her to the door.

“It was really nice meeting you, Mary,” I say and get ready to walk away. Before I can turn, she pulls me into a giant hug.

“It was good meeting you, too, Quincy. Oh!” she exclaims and lets me go to pull her phone out of her back pocket. “Can we take a picture? My friends are going to die when they see you’re the one who did my hair!”

I oblige, secretly wondering how quickly it’ll end up on Instagram and hoping my hair is still holding up from when I did it this morning. The receptionist gives me a questioning look but I ignore her.

I finally get back to my station and start cleaning up. Geni is in between clients, sitting in her chair reading the article again.

“That was one weird, uncomfortable haircut,” she says.

“Tell me about it,” I reply. “This is going to be a long week.”

I
feel really bad about the article in the newspaper. Quincy is taking it like a champ and doesn’t seem all that fazed by it, even though I know she’s annoyed that several of her new clients seem to be fans. One actually had the nerve to ask her for tickets to a game.

Most times fans are great. But in general, people really suck.

I was relieved to find out that most of the “source” information came from that Hailey girl at Chance’s day care. Quincy said she called a meeting with the director of the facility, and Hailey ended up confessing to the whole thing. She was given a final written warning for her job.

That was good enough for Quincy. She didn’t want the girl to lose her job but needed to make sure the point about privacy was made. Frankly, I agree with her. And it makes me trust her friendship that much more. Not that I didn’t trust her to begin with. It just drives the point home to me again.

I can’t help feeling partly responsible for the whole thing. I could have let Geni help take care of them when Quincy was sick, but honestly, I was having too much fun playing house. I’m still not sure why that is. I’ve never enjoyed going home to someone or spent half the day thinking about how I can lighten the load. Maybe I miss being around my nieces and nephews too much.